


The  Sill

by wede_fic (frahulettaes)



Series: The Sill [1]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-12-22
Updated: 2009-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-05 00:29:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frahulettaes/pseuds/wede_fic





	The  Sill

The two suns, Ossus and his brother Ossul, dipped toward the horizon and cast shadows long across Tashen D'o Rhen's lower pastures. Tashen's linth, long and sleek between his knees, huffed and stomped, clearly ready to be home, watered and resting. Zin's linth answered his call, his ears flicking back in agitation.

"They're tired, Tash." Zin was too. But Tash was rising up and throwing his leg over the dusky rump and thumping heavily to the ground. Zin looked across the pasture, eyes squinting into the suns setting, calculating the time remaining until he too, could be home, watered and resting.

"This won't take long. C'mon. Down with you," he held Zin's stirrup so the younger man could dismount easily, sliding down the linth's tall side and into Tash's waiting arms.

"Tash," Zin turned into Tash's close embrace, "I'm bone tired, dirty and I smell worse than Lannath." He patted Lannath's smooth haunch. Tash's hand cupped Zin's cheek, thumb under his chin.

"Our last hour on our own. Just us. Please, Zin." He brushed his thumb over Zin's lower lip then replaced the digit with his mouth, tenderly. Full, soft-mouthed kisses that felt to Zin like Tash were doing only one thing in this world at the moment and that was making love to Zin's mouth.

Zin moaned and squirmed against Tash, felt the broad strength of his husband's shoulders and the big, work hardened muscles in his arms. Zin was lithe and slender by comparison, though he was a strong, fully trained Bloodgaurd.

Tash's hand slid down to cup the hardness between Zin's legs, squeezing and stroking by turns. Zin gasped and swore.

"Ah, gods, Tash, gods," Tash worked his fingers inside the tight leggings, tangled in the black curls and closed around Zin's penis softly and then more firmly, finally pulling a seemingly impossible climax from his exhausted body.

"Yes, that's it," Tash's voice sent a flurry of pleasure through Zin who, head thrown back, shouted his climax, pumping helplessly into Tash's tight grip. "Yes, yes, little one, that's what I wanted."

Zin panted, shivering through the aftermath, and managed a narrow eyed, mutinous glare at his husband. "Sith take it, Tash," he gasped when Tash's fingers tightened a fraction. "I have to ride in these leggings and we're still hours away from home."

Tashen threw his head back and laughed. Zin continued to look disgruntled for at least a moment more. But Tash's laughter, so vibrant and alive, was impossible to resist. He found himself smiling just a little and a moment later he joined Tash in a good laugh, his annoyance forgotten.

"You," Tash's laugh slowed to a chuckle and he took Zin's chin in hand. "Are going to be a handful," he squeezed Zin's sex to illustrate his point. "I can just tell."

He pried one of Zin's hands from his tunic and turned it palm up, taking a moment to kiss the softly shimmering tattoo on his palm. The late afternoon sun rippled across it, making it seem alive. Well, of course it is alive, thought Tash and kissed it again, letting his lips linger.

"Tash," Zin slid his other hand up to the back of Tashen's neck gripping it softly. Pleasure arced through him re-ignited by Tash's lips on his tattoo. "Gods, gods, Tash, please, I can't, no more, gods, Tash." Zin's soft litany finally awoke Tash from his reverie and he moved to cup his own cheek with Zin's hand.

Zin sighed in relief, tightened his hand on Tash's neck and let out a shivery laugh. "If I'd known how hungry you were, I'd've thought twice about signing that troth. Gods, Tash, you're going to kill me."

Tash laughed again, the warm sound flowing over them both. "I think it will be the other way around, don't you? I've not had so much pleasure in years, little one. And here I thought I was marrying of necessity." He mirrored Zin's hold on his neck and his expression became solemn. "I'm glad to be wrong, Zin." He held Zin's gaze intently. "Very glad."

Zin smiled.

The crash that came on the heels of that admission sent them tumbling headlong down the grassy verge into pastureland and left them stunned and deafened by the shock of sound. They could not hear the hissing cry of escaping gasses from the pod or the shrieking of the Linths as they careened away, reins tangling dangerously around their forelegs.

***********  
Time passed by the frozen tableau; crumpled pod, steaming vegetation and senseless humans. Zin was the first to come to his senses. He ached from head to foot, his tunic not only muddied but also ripped and scorched.

Tash lay several meters away, flat and unmoving

 

"Tash," Zin yelped as his hands swept over his husbands form, deftly plying layers of cloth and mud away, searching for injury, breath, life.

Zin was shouting, his shocked ears could not hear, not even the ragged crash of breath in his chest. Tash's mouth opened and Zin could feel the vibration through the broad chest, watched the lips, so recently kissed, move in the act of speaking but all he could hear was dead silence. He was terrified.

Frantic hands touched Tash's face, turned his head, looked for damage and found only spatters of dirt but no blood. Tash was holding Zin's head now, palms on each cheek. Tash's lips were moving and Zin felt a rush of renewed panic when he couldn't hear the beloved voice. His sight blurred and Zin felt his belly roil with fear, his limbs shook, his hands now clasped, in a grim parody of his earlier passion, to the front of Tash's tunic.

Tash levered himself and then Zin up. They made their shaky way to the stone pasture crossing and that was the most that Tash could do so he sank to the ground, dragging Zin into his lap and closed him tightly to his chest, desperately grateful that they were together and largely unharmed.

*********

It was long past moons' zenith before Tashen made an effort to move. Zin did not sleep but rested between Tash's legs, racked by episodes of shaking as the adrenaline slowly worked its way from his body. He was never so grateful to have someone, as he was to have Tash at that moment.

His fingers tightened on Tash's tunic as Tash went to move him and he realized with a start that he could hear his breath and that the grass was swishing in the soft night breeze. He whispered Tash's name to see if it was real.

He felt the heady rush of relief shiver through him at the sound of his own voice and moved to let Tash get up. He turned to speak and froze; Tash's was looking over Zin's shoulder at the billowing rolls of greasy smoke, not twenty yards from where they stood. "What…?" he paused, "Is that? Tash?"

Tash put his arm around Zin and they made their way back up the verge and looked into the steaming cavity and it's occupant; a silvery pod surrounded by sizzling, melting masses of synthlastic and charred vegetation.

"It's a cryo-pod."

**********

Dawn was pearling the eastern sky when Tash and Zin finally stepped down from the landspeeder in front of the great house of D'o Rhenan. The cryo-pod was lifted carefully by Tashen's son's and brothers and carried into the gaping maw of the barn where tools where brought and blankets, along with tea and breads, and comfort.

"Be careful, Besl, please." Tash laid his hand on the shoulder of his son, met his eye sternly as he handed him the spanner.

"I will. I am. I'm always careful, Pappa." Nearly twenty-five turns, with a family of his own and still in tremulous times Besl differed to him. He should have been angry but never found it in himself.

Besl held three of the ragged, lit tabs and jammed the spanner through the bolt. The lid popped and he flipped it open to looked inside. Tash and Zin and the brothers and sons and even some of the wives, drew close to looked inside, too.

"It's a boy."

**********

"Oh, gods." Tashen's family was galvanized into action by his words. Many hands worked the pod apart, loosened restraints and pried the limp body from its snug berth. He was in a terrible way; beaten, bloody, one eye clotted with mud, and debris and what looked like more blood.

"Careful gods, he's a mess." Tash held the boy's head as two of his sons worked the slim hips free from the central restraints. The boy's single garment, a ragged tunic, roughly woven, hung from his shoulders to the middle of his thighs.

It seemed only moments later Tashen and Besl were laying the boy on a gurney in the surgery off the large main kitchen. Once the boy's backside hit the sheets, Tashen, Besl and Zin were bustled out of the surgery and D'o Rhenan's small cadre of healers took over his care, leaving the family to gather round the long kitchen board to wait.   
More tea and breads, fruit and nuts appeared down the board's length. Outer coats where shed, blankets folded, all the bustle and sounds of people taking care of themselves and each other. Tash turned to Zin amid the flurry of activity, pulled the tired young man close and sighed into the dark curls.

"This is not how I wished to bring you into my home, Zin." He smiled wryly and hugged Zin tighter. "I had great plans for introducing you. But now we're here and I would like to speak to the family." He pushed Zin's shoulders away and reached up to tuck a stray curl behind a slender ear. "Will you be introduced now? Are you well?"

Zin straightened his back and smiled a weary smile. "I am glad to be here, Tash, to be in your home, our home, finally. I'm well enough. I will rest when we know if the boy will live. Not until then." Zin kissed the older man's lips gently and turned to face the members of Tash's family who now surrounded him.

Tash slid his arm around Zin's shoulder and began what would be the long work of introducing his husband to the immensity that was his family.

Some two hours later, most of them were chatting quietly. Many had yet to speak to the new husband or father or brother when Melle and Penna came through the solid glass doors of the surgery.

Tash stood, hand still on Zin's shoulder. "Penna, Melle, before you begin, please meet Zin." He squeezed Zin's shoulder. "Zin," he said in turn. "Melle is my second wife and our principle healer and Penna is my third wife and dear friend." Zin inclined his head and stood to receive the welcome.

Melle came to him, hands outstretched and offered the traditional greeting, a gently kiss to the palm of his tattooed hand. "I'm very glad you're here, Zin. And I wish we were meeting under less trying conditions. We will speak tomorrow, yes?" He nodded and returned the welcome, soft lips brushing the hollow of her palm and straightened to accept Penna's greeting as well.

"Zin, you're welcome in our home. Your home now. Welcome." She clasped his hands but did not kiss his palms. Zin bowed his head and smiled.

"Now, our boy. How is he?" Tash went back to his seat at the table and poured both women a cup of tea from the immense ceramic pot in the middle. The family looked on with tense anticipation, waiting for news of the boy's progress.

Melle started after looking quickly at Penna. "He's stable, now. But it took some doing. In the end we decided to put him in the bacta tank. We just couldn't be sure we got all of the interior bleeding. He's there now, but, Tash, he was sorely used."

"Meaning?" Tash asked.

This was a new look at his husband for Zin. He was all business, focused solely on working the problem at hand. Well, not entirely new, Zin mused. He kissed with the same intensity that he was now placing himself back in the family structure. Penna took up the answering.

"Meaning, he was used like a portside whore and seemingly discarded like one. Though who wastes a fortune on a cryopod for a whore is beyond me." She held up the tattered remains of what had once been a short, creamy tunic, it's original color visible only on the inner seams. "The only other thing we know is this." She turned the rag inside out, back seam exposed and pulled a piece of ribbon that hung by a few threads.

"I think it might be a name tag. It's torn across the bottom but here," she held it across the table, "it says 'Obi' in basic."

There was a quiet rumble of comments around the table though Zin, Tash and the wives remained silent.


End file.
